


safe

by ryuuzaou



Category: Splatoon
Genre: 8 makes 3's hearts go doki doki, F/F, Fluff, HAROLD THEY'RE LESBIANS, Mild Hurt/Comfort, Minor Injuries, Post-Octo Expansion DLC, Sleepy Cuddles, cq plays therapist and he's pretty good at it, eight still isn't very good at inkling language, my darlings.....
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-12-01
Updated: 2019-12-01
Packaged: 2021-02-26 00:02:28
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,176
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21624217
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ryuuzaou/pseuds/ryuuzaou
Summary: What’s this feeling… could it be love?A thrilling chase, my heart will race;She’s more than I’ve ever dreamt of.Eight is new to the surface. She can't sleep.
Relationships: Agent 3/Agent 8 (Splatoon)
Comments: 6
Kudos: 51





	safe

**Author's Note:**

> unlike my last fic, this one has been in the works for over a year i think. but the anxiety of my roommate hosting a party made me hide in my room which made me want to write, so, bam. lesbians. overcoming trauma, together. with the help of a small blue echinoderm

_What’s this feeling… could it be love?_

_A thrilling chase, my heart will race;_

_She’s more than I’ve ever dreamt of._

  
  


The dawn is beautiful.

Agent 8 has never seen anything like it. Yes, she’s seen them before—she’s been on missions that left her on the field overnight, forced her to stay awake for days at a time until she passed out on her sniper scope. Those were grey mornings, silent and lonely.

Those sunrises were no more than evidence of time passing. 

This sunrise is evidence that time has passed. _That_ time has passed.

She looks down at the ocean. Below that, the subway. That cold, dark cavern, filled with distant sounds of ink dripping, dripping off her skin and off the walls where her pack exploded on her back and— 

Eight shivers. The cropped leather that covers her chest leaves her back (and its wound) open to the salty air. She hugs herself, rubbing her arms and brushing over all the scrapes and bruises she’s acquired. The tests have been harder on her body than her missions in the Octarian Army ever were. 

Something lands on Eight’s shoulders. She looks up.

Agent 3 stands above her, adjusting the ragged gray cape that she’s placed over Eight’s shoulders. 

“You’ll catch a cold,” she says, standing upright and crossing her arms. “Getting sick with all those cuts is just asking for infection.”

Agent 8 shifts, holding the soft fabric closer and snuggling in. It could smell better, but it’s comfortable and warm, it isn’t leather, and it’s exactly what she needs right now. 

Oh, she’s been silent for too long— _say something, Eight!_

“Thank you,” she manages. Her voice is softer than she meant for it to be.

To her surprise, Agent 3 hears her and replies. “Least I can do,” she mumbles. Her eyes drift to Eight’s legs, the burns on her shins from Three’s own curling bombs. Something that could be regret flashes in her eyes. 

In an attempt to distract Agent 3—and a little herself—Eight turns her head to address the idols that helped her through her endeavors. It’s overdue, really; she’s barely said much more than a thank you. “I am happy to at last meet you,” she manages. Her Inklish is still shaky, even with the practicing Cuttlefish has been helping her with between stations. 

Marina has her legs dangling over the edge of the platform, while Pearl sits facing Eight with her legs stretched out over Marina’s lap. Eight has a clear view of Pearl opening her mouth to answer, but her voice comes out as little more than a whisper, inaudible over the wind. Marina, with a fond look to her partner, gives an answer instead. 

“It’s great to meet you too, Agent 8! I’ve been so excited to show another Octo all the stuff the surface has to offer!”

Pearl leans in and says something into Marina’s ear, which makes the latter frown. 

“Oh, Pearl’s right… We have a commercial we’re filming for all next week…”

Eight gawks, terrified by the concept of having to navigate this strange new world alone.

Upon seeing this, Marina hastily adds: “But I’m sure Agent 3 would be happy to help out! Right, Captain?”

The old squid jumps. “Huh? Oh! Yes! Of course! We of the New Squidbeak Splatoon care about all civilians, even Octolings! And—”

“Wait,” Three interrupts, “I’m not some tour guide, I’m a soldier. Remember?”

As she talks, Pearl smirks knowingly at Three and whispers to Marina, who giggles. 

“What’re you laughing at?” As much as Three knows how much rich people like making fun of others, she can’t stop herself from prickling at the idea of being mocked. 

“Pearlie just said that she’s surprised Big Tough Agent 3 is backing down from a challenge that quickly, that’s all.”

“Wh—challenge?” She’s usually not so easily goaded (she’d like to think), but… She glances at Eight. The Octoling stares up at her with wide eyes, startlingly golden against the sharp black lining around them. _Damn it._ “Whatever. Fine. My couch is open ‘til your commercial thing is done.” Another sneaky glance; Eight is giving her a shy little smile and _this is such a bad idea._

But, for Eight, she’s just grateful she won’t be alone anymore. With the way her brain keeps pulling her thoughts back down to the subway, it’ll probably be for the better for her to have some company. Even if that company doesn’t really want to be there. 

Ah, well. A couch can’t be worse than the hard plastic subway benches. Eight closes her eyes, and imagines how much easier it’ll be to fall asleep in a warm apartment rather than a cold subway car. 




Eight lies on her side upon a plush couch, bundled in two different blankets, her head upon three stacked pillows, and she can’t sleep. She’d be tossing and turning, if moving her torso didn’t send a throbbing pain through her back. After all the work that Agent 3 had put into digging through her apartment for extra bedding, she can’t even use it right! Three would probably be disappointed in her if she knew. What if she kicks Eight out for not appreciating her hospitality? What if she ends up on the street, all alone again?

Carefully, she maneuvers her body to keep her back from touching anything, and shifts to face the room. It’s a fairly large space, that Three had explained (in few words) was given to her free of rent for saving the Great Zapfish and Cap’n Cuttlefish a few years ago. Still, there’s a lot of extra space, as there are few items of furniture or knick-knacks like the ones Eight had seen in magazines. Also, most magazine apartments don’t have muddy footprints and scattered weaponry spread throughout the room. 

When Eight sits up, she’s already going through the motions of pulling on her boots. Three had tossed her a yellow XXL shirt and some old shorts when they were getting ready for bed, but Eight opts to change back into her battle armor. Her back aches with the chilly leather pressing against it, but it’s a familiar pain that will be slightly easier to ignore once she’s up and moving. Not that she knows where she’s going to go, but that’s something she can figure out along the way.

The door closes behind her with a soft _click._




The hard plastic of the subway bench is as cold as Eight remembers. 

She doesn’t really know how she got back here. She had been wandering aimlessly around the city until she saw a familiar poster, and then a familiar sign, and then heard the distant rumbling…

And now she’s back where she started. Where she longed to be far from, and perhaps still does. 

For now, she gets to her feet and stretches her arms, narrowly missing one of the heads of a siphonophore. She apologizes, and notices that her speech has slipped back into Octarian. The language is easier on her tongue, and Eight decides that alone down here in the subway, it’s okay to fall back to what’s familiar.

In a moment, she finds herself in the same car as C.Q. Cumber. He’s perched on a bench, which is unlike Eight has ever seen him. She peers out the window and is greeted only by the rushing wall. With a sigh, she drops down across from the conductor. Is he sleeping?

Nope. “Good evening,” he offers after a beat of silence. “I apologize. You caught me deep amidst my own thoughts.”

“You don’t need to apologize,” Eight says. “And you don’t need to talk to me, either.”

“I’m aware, however, I feel it is only polite to congratulate you on your success in reaching the surface.” 

Eight brings her knees up to her chest and rests her cheek on one of them. The “thank you” she supplies is more of a grumble than anything else. 

“Has the ‘promised land’ not been as seamless a transition as you had hoped?” The front of him lifts slightly, the way it does when he’s at least slightly interested in the conversation. 

“I guess not.” Eight leans her head back against the window behind her. “Even though I got all the way there, I still came back down here after only a day. I don’t understand. Was I just never meant to live on the surface? Would I be better off just going back to the Octarian army? I just… I just don’t feel like I belong. Not just the surface. Anywhere. At least on the subway, I know what I’m supposed to do. It feels, I dunno… easier.”

C.Q. makes a noise like a hum (does he have lungs to hum with?). “Perhaps you come back not because you do not belong elsewhere, but because you are afraid of change. You have returned to what is familiar to you. You long for things that were, at one point, all you knew. And now, in a brave new world, you are afraid of the unknown. So you retreat back to what you do know.” 

Huh. Eight never thought about it like that. Everything he said makes sense, and is probably true, and how in the world did C.Q Cumber get so good at psychology? Maybe when the trains stop running, he can take up a job as a therapist. Eight knows she’s gonna need one. 

After a pause, C.Q. continues, “You will not know if you ‘belong’ anywhere unless you venture into the place you would like to be. And, I assure you, the place that you want to belong is not this train. Without risk, there is no reward. So take the risk. The reward will come.

“Take care out there.”

C.Q. seems to be finished talking.

They sit in silence for a while. 

Eight pulls the collar of the cape she’s still wearing up over her chin. She contemplates.




_Click._

Three wakes up.

She leaps to her feet, one of her bedside Gloogas in her hand, and silently makes her way toward the front door.

At the corner of the hall, before the main room, Agent 3 stops. She takes a second to recreate her new roommate’s face in her mind (it’s easier than Three would like to admit). She knows now that not all Octolings want to kill her, but it’s a hard mindset to break out of after three years of nothing but. Once she’s certain that she won’t accidentally shoot her new ward, she proceeds.

The apartment is empty. The boots that were taken off near the door are gone. The couch is bare, apart from a pile of folded fabric: a blanket, her Crust Bucket tee, and her sleeping shorts. 

Three is alone.

Multiple thoughts race through her head at once. Is Eight okay? Where did she go? Is she coming back? Will she even _want_ to come back? Well, why would she, anyway, with how cold Three has been to her? Not that it’s on purpose; expressing affection is harder for her than it is for others, and that’s often misconstrued as rudeness. Oh, cod, Eight’s gone missing and it’s all her fault, and— 

And there’s a note. 

Three sits down in front of the note and picks it up to investigate. It’s the back of a coupon that had expired a few months ago in methodical but still sloppy Inkling. 

_Try to not lost_ _  
_ _Will again retreat here_

Uhh…

It takes a few minutes to decipher what the hell that riddle means. Three’s never been the best with words. It’s probably something like, ‘I’ll try not to get lost, and will come back here again.’ She figures that Eight’s still learning the Inkling language, and that’s the best she can do with her Cap’n-limited education thus far. It does make Three a little sad that the only word for ‘return’ Eight knows is ‘retreat,’ because as a fellow soldier, she knows the implications. There must have been more important things to worry about in that subway than finding a pen.

A second later, Agent 3 is pocketing the note and tugging her sneakers over her heels. _The subway._ There’s not really that many other places the Octoling could go, if she wanted to go anywhere. At the front door, Three hesitates. It feels strange not to have the weight of her cape around her neck. It isn’t on the folded pile of laundry though, which means that Eight is probably still wearing it. The concept of that is really, really cute, not that she’d ever say so out loud. Yet. 

The door closes behind her firmly, and her search begins.

Inkopolis Square isn’t quite as lively at night as it is in the day. There’s still a few people—a team grabbing a post-match snack here, a pair chatting quietly at a table there—but none that notice Three when she skirts around the open Square and into the back alley where the subway entrance lies. 

The trek to the main subway platform is a long and strange one. It goes through a few others, along an old track, and through what could have once been some kind of shopping booth area to get to the in-service destination. The atmosphere is reminiscent of some kind of apocalypse; the thought of Inkopolis reduced to the state of this subway sends a chill down Agent 3’s back. When she reaches the platform, there isn’t a train in sight. She’ll just have to wait. 

Patience isn’t Three’s strong suit. She tries to just sit on a bench, but that’s a lost cause, so instead she takes to wandering. Her shoe hits a piece of glass from that damned blender and sends it skidding across the concrete. It reaches the edge and falls, shattering upon the track. It echoes. When that sound fades, another takes its place: the distant rumble of a train. Finally. Three makes her way to where the train usually stops, standing on the yellow caution line. When the train rolls in, the wind it brings with it whips her hair around her face. She doesn’t notice. Her thoughts are on one thing, and she prays it steps off this train. 

_Please be on this one,_ Three’s mind screams, _I don’t think I can wait another minute before I ink this whole place lime green._

Thank cod, the doors slide open, and out of the last one steps Eight. 

She doesn’t look up at first. Her eyes are downcast, watching her steps in her metal-heeled boots and the too-long gray cape drifting around her ankles. She’s holding that tightly around herself, the collar high enough to hide half her face. 

Three is already running. “Eight!”

She raises her head. Her smile is big enough to be seen over the cape’s collar, lighting up her eyes. It’s more expressive than anything Agent 3 has ever seen from her, and it’s so, so beautiful. It’s dazzling, so distracting that Three doesn’t notice the limp until Eight stumbles on her way forward. Three lunges to catch her before she hits the ground. The flow of momentum has Three swooping Eight up into her arms, with one hand holding her knees and the other under her shoulders (she’s careful, recalling the current state of Eight’s lower back). 

Their faces are close. Eight’s eyes look like liquid gold, shining with something that Three can’t put a name to. Eight smiles (Three’s heart damn near stops) and winds her arms around Three’s neck, tucking her face into the crook where Three’s neck meets her shoulder. 

She says what Three thinks is ‘thank you’ in Octarian, then corrects herself to Inkling to say, “Seeing you made me forget that it hurt. Thank you.”

“D-don’t mention it,” Three mumbles, her cheeks hot as she turns to head back to the Square. Eight is light in her arms, prompting thoughts of _Did she get enough to eat down here?_ and _I should learn to cook_ to cycle through Three’s head. 

They earn a few weird looks on the walk home, given that Agent 3 is carrying an Octoling in full battle armor and a cape, but one scathing look from the former keeps everyone at a distance. It’s a look she’s perfected, intimidating but not too threatening. She’s quite proud of it. Judging by the expression on Eight’s face, she’s impressed, too: her mouth is slightly open, her eyes are smiling, and there’s something toeing the line between admiration and affection behind those eyes. Three makes a mental note: take Eight on a date where she can intimidate everyone and make Eight’s face look like that again.

 _Implying that you want to date her,_ a voice in her head that sounds eerily like Pearl’s says. 

_Maybe that’s ‘cause I fuckin’ do,_ she replies to it, and holds the Octoling a little closer.

Eight is almost asleep by the time Three has them back at the apartment. Three kicks the door closed behind her, and is about to set Eight down on the couch when she realizes that Eight is probably in a lot more pain than she is, and that if either of them sleep on her beautiful cushy mattress, it should be Eight. So Three bypasses the couch and heads straight for her room. She gingerly places Eight on the bed, on the side where she’d already tossed aside the blankets, to make it easier to tuck her in. Just as she’s withdrawing, a hand reaches out and grabs her arm, clutching it tightly. 

“Will you…” Eight’s voice is barely a whisper. She avoids Three’s gaze for a moment, then blinks, and gold eyes meet red. “Will you stay? Please?”

“Um.” Agent 3 takes a second, trying to analyze the situation, when she stops herself. This isn’t a battle. She isn’t in Octo Valley. She’s in her room, with a girl who just helped save Inkopolis, who saved her life, who doesn’t want to be alone. Three lets herself smile. “Yeah. I’ll stay.”

Eight reaches up with her spare hand, her other pulling Three by the arm down toward her. Three gently nudges Eight farther onto the bed so she can climb in beside her. She pulls the blanket up over their bodies, then stretches her arm behind Eight’s head to draw her against her side. Eight trills, a soft and happy noise that warms Three to her core, and she pushes herself closer, tangling their legs together. They lie in silence for a while, content to simply exist together, until Eight breaks it.

She draws back just enough to meet Three’s eyes. “You’re not leaving?”

Three smiles with a fondness that she didn’t know she possessed and guides Eight’s head back to rest on her chest. “I’m not leaving. I’ll be right here when you wake up. You’re safe.”

_You’re safe._

For the first time since Eight woke up in that dark subway tunnel, she relaxes. Warm. Protected.

Safe.

**Author's Note:**

> [hmu on twitter folks](https://twitter.com/sickvaeolus)
> 
> EDIT 10.14.2020: finally remembered the word "plush" in describing comfy mattresses. only bc i happened upon mattresses on sale at a store that had a sign describing 'firm' vs 'plush'. only took me [checks notes] almost a year


End file.
